A low, mournful yelp that could only have come from Alexander’s muzzle brought me back to reality. I realized I was crying again, and I tried to control myself. The white wolf was still looking at me, but the expression on his face was no longer furious, but mortally serious. His muzzle was no longer wrinkled in a grimace of anger, nor did he have his brow furrowed or his ears pinned back. The volume of his fur seemed to have returned to normal, as if nothing affected him.
He had made a decision, I realized. But others had to make their move first:
“We’ll see if that’s true,” the lion purred. “Something tells me you have hope.”
“You’re ovulating right now, beleza,” Álvaro added. “Aren’t you, my king? If she ovulates, it means not everything is lost.”
That was the first time Álvaro call
